Treading Water
by Phoenix on cloud nine
Summary: Of course they would be out in a large expanse of water in the middle of nowhere, with Mike being unable to swim due to an injury and with a concussion to boot.


**Hey guys :) So, I found this AMAZING prompt by the wonderful _phreakycat _on the Suitsmeme and just couldn't resist filling it :) Hope you enjoy! Sorry if there are any spelling errors etc, I did proof read, but I seem to always miss things :P**

* * *

><p>"We actually get to go on his boat?" Mike asked excitedly, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he listened to Harvey outlining the plans to 'woo' their newest client. Alfred Hemingway was originally from England, and he recently decided he wanted legal representation after he moved to America. They now had to meet with him regarding what he actually wanted from them.<p>

"Yacht," Harvey corrected as he skimmed through the suggested merger that Hemingway wanted with his company. "And yes - so read up on yacht etiquette before we go."

"Yacht etiquette?" Mike repeated. "What is that, like no talking with your mouth full?"

"That's just basic human decency," Harvey replied, sounding slightly bored as he read through the file. "Make sure you wear the right kind of tie."

"It's just a boat!" Mike complained. "Who cares how I dress?"

"Yacht," Harvey corrected again, before looking up and fixing his associate with a critical glance. "And you honestly need me to answer that?"

Mike huffed. Over the months he was only too aware of how important it was to dress appropriately. And now he was worrying, rather than feeling excited at the prospect of getting to ride in a boat. Yacht. Whatever.

"Are you sulking?" Harvey asked, not paying Mike any attention, and asking as more of a courtesy. "Because if I bring a sulky associate to a meeting - "

"It'll look bad on you, I know," Mike finished for him, rolling his eyes. "I'm not sulking. When's the meeting?"

"Tomorrow - 12 o clock - and we're leaving here at _exactly _half past 11 to get to the dock in time. So if you're even a second late..." Harvey left the threat open, knowing Mike understood.

"I know, I know," he sighed in reply, grabbing some files from the desk he needed to finish on his own desk, "you'll leave without me. Or feed me to Louis."

"I'll leave you to be fed to Louis," Harvey said to him, putting the merger to one side to pick a different document up.

Mike pretended to be wounded and clutched at his chest, before pointing to Harvey dramatically. "That's just cold!" Mike told him.

Harvey hid his smirk. He was busy and if he indulged the kid too much he'd never be left alone. It reminded him of a stray that you leave food out for. "It's good to know that when you get excited about something, you don't start acting ridiculously," Harvey said sarcastically, before looking up and giving a shoo-ing gesture. "Now get out - you don't have those files ready for tomorrow, and it won't just be me who's cold - you'll find yourself swimming to shore."

"Aye aye, Captain," Mike said, giving him a salute as he left.

He'd only find out later that his words were more or less dead on.

* * *

><p>To Harvey's surprise, Mike was five minutes early the next day, and they arrived right on time at the dock. Hemingway was stood by his yacht 'The Rose' and beamed at them as they approached him.<p>

"Mr Hemingway," Harvey said in greeting, shaking his hand. "Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet."

"Busy isn't even the word," Hemingway muttered, shaking his head. "And please - call me Alfred," he turned to Mike. "Have we met?"

Mike looked over at Harvey, not sure whether 'yacht etiquette' allowed him to speak. Actually, they were on land right now, so screw the rules of the yacht. "Uh, no - no, Mr Hemingw - _Alfred_. I'm Mike Ross, I'm Harvey's associate. I'm helping him with your case," he smiled at the man and gave him a firm handshake, looking him dead in the eye, as if he were trying to win the trust of a dog.

Apparently, their client approved, as he winked at Harvey and gave Mike a small pat on the shoulder. "Good man. Well - to business, I suppose. Come aboard, gentlemen, please," he walked them up the small gangplank that had been erected and showed them onto the main deck. "What do you think?" He asked them. "Named her after my late wife. Just don't tell my current wife!" He gave a loud laugh and ushered them into what Mike thought of as the 'Captain's Cabin'.

He longed to touch the wheel - it was a proper sailing boat rather than a motorboat - but he knew that he would get a hard elbow in the ribs if he attempted it, and he also knew that looking like a little kid playing pirates would do nothing to help them in gaining Hemingway's friendship. "Wow, Mr - Alfred... This is an amazing boat."

"Yacht," Harvey corrected under his breath, just as Hemingway did the same in a loud tone.

"Uh... sorry," Mike said hastily, shifting the folders under his arms just so he would have something to do so he could avoid the gazes of both higher-class men. Mike had barely ever been on a boat! Hell, he'd once been on a ferry to go over to see the Statue of Liberty, but that was about it.

"This is what I like to call the first class deck," Hemingway said, leading them back out and onto the top deck of the 2-deck boat - _yacht_. Mike gazed around and found himself realising something.

"Alfred," he said hesitantly. "Where are the lifeboats?" He winced as both Hemingway and Harvey looked at him incredulously.

"Lifeboats?" Hemingway repeated. "What on earth would I need those for?"

Harvey's incredulous expression now turned on their client. He had only looked at Mike like that because he couldn't believe that _that _was what his associate had chosen to comment on. But now he realised he couldn't see a boat anywhere.

"You don't have any?" Mike asked. "But, the guidelines from the International Convention for the Safety of Lives at Sea say that - "

"Don't worry your head about it, boy," Hemingway said, with a small smile. "I was just having fun. I have one at the stern - it's got all the neccassary bells and whistles - complete with a tracking device, flashing lights - the works."

"Uh... the stern's the bit at the back, right?" Mike asked, to clear it up.

He regretted it as Hemingway's lips drew into a tightened line. Clearly their client didn't appreciate people who weren't yacht connoisseurs. "Yes," he said. "The 'bit at the back'. Anyway," he moved on quickly. "How about you go and get set up in the lounge and I'll start her up and set her going," he smiled at the lawyers and pointed in the direction of the 'lounge'. As they made their way there, Harvey hit Mike on his shoulder.

"Ow!" Mike whined, rubbing at it. "What was that for?"

"You can quote guidelines from the International Convention for the Safety of Lives at Sea and yet you don't know which bit the 'stern' is?" Harvey asked, wishing he'd told Mike to look up everything about yachts.

"Why should I know that?" Mike bit back. "It's just a freaking boat! _Yacht_," he snarled, before Harvey could correct him.

"You want to establish a rapport with the client," Harvey told him. "You can't do that by getting everything wrong about the only thing he cares about in his life. So you can just sit here and not talk for the meeting, okay?" He glared at Mike and set some papers out on a table. "If you have a question about something connected to the yacht - keep it to yourself. I'll take you to the library afterwards and you can read all about these big boats to your hearts content," he smirked as he used his patronising tone.

"Actually, Harvey," Mike said loftily. "I think they're called 'yachts'."

He deserved the stamp on his foot.

* * *

><p>"Uh, Alfred?" Miked asked, halfway through. He knew he shouldn't ask questions about the boat - yacht - but he was worried. "I was just wondering - who's steering the b - yacht? It's just," he pressed on hurriedly so that Hemingway couldn't glare at him, "I can't help but notice it seems to be moving more than usual."<p>

He was the only one who noticed - the other two were firmly immersed in paperwork, and Mike was more than a little nervous on the boat - _yacht _- so he was paying extra attention to whatever it was doing.

Hemingway frowned. "This isn't right," he muttered, standing up and heading for what Mike was for some strange reason now referring to as the 'flight deck'.

Mike jumped up and cast a nervous glance in Harvey's direction. "Relax," Harvey said. "It's probably just an increase in wind."

Mike nodded but was suddenly thrown to the floor as there was a tremendous _crash _which shook the boat - and yes it was a boat - and in turn shook Mike to his very core.

"Shit!" He heard Harvey curse as he too was thrown around. The older man had been sat down, however, and remained in the seat - a little worse for wear but mostly unharmed. He got up now, though, and went over to Mike. "Are you okay?" He asked, grabbing hold of a mantlepiece as another crash shook the whole room.

Mike's nodded and scrambled to his feet, feeling himself shaking. "What happened?" He asked, looking at Harvey as if he knew everything.

"I don't know," Harvey muttered. "I'm going to see Alfred and find out what's happening - you stay here," he ordered,

"But, Harvey - " Mike tried to argue, but was silence by Harvey's glare.

"Stay," he said firmly, and left.

"I'm not a dog!" Mike called after him, but stayed where he was, clutching onto the marbled mantlepiece as he waited. Suddenly, there was yet another crash, and Mike was thrown to the floor again. He caught himself in time just before he would crack his head off the side of the fireplace. He glanced at the doorway - he hadn't heard any sound from either of the other men and bit his lip. What if one of them was injured? Screw Harvey's orders, he wasn't some puppy that could be ordered to stay just because it's master didn't want it there.

He quickly located both Hemingway and Harvey, breathing a small sigh of relief when he found that neither was hurt. He ignored Harvey's annoyed glare that clearly read 'I told you to stay' and clutched the table in the room. "What's happening?" He asked Hemingway.

"The rudder scraped on something in the water and must have snapped off," he said, pulling all sort of levers and ropes in the room. "Now I can't position her properly."

"What were the crashes?" Mike asked, trying to look outside.

"Because I can't control her, she's heading for whatever takes her fancy!" He yelled to be heard over another crash. "And she hit something - now some of the lines are split and - dammit!" He was flung to the floor as they crashed into something big - Mike thought he could see a large rock outside. Hemingway managed to pull himself up and checked something on a dashboard. "Shit!" He moaned. "We've got a leak - the lower deck's starting to fill up."

"So, what do we do?" Mike asked nervously.

"Abandon ship," Hemingway told him, patting the wheel of his prized possession. "Goodbye, Rose," he said mournfully, before realising there were more pressing matters to attend to. "Come on - the lifeboat's just at the stern, remember?" The two lawyers followed him to the back of his yacht, and watched as he untangled ropes and latches. "Get in!" He said, already getting into the boat himself.

Just as Mike was putting a foot in, there was another crash, and he lost his balance, toppling over the side. "Mike!" Harvey yelled, trying to grab hold of him, but it was already too late. He looked down and thought he could see a blonde head bobbing in the water - before it was dragged under.

"Get the lifeboat down!" Harvey shouted to Hemingway, taking his jacket off and throwing it in the lifeboat (Hell, he payed over a thousand dollars for it, he wasn't going to get it wet). He then stepped back a bit, closed his eyes as he wondered just who else he would do this for (Coming up with just 3 people) and dived into the water.

The cold hit him like a ton of bricks but he praised himself on the spectacular swan dive - he had dabbled in diving in high school. He swam up for air and saw the lifeboat drifting away. "Alfred!" He yelled. "Bring it closer; we need to find Mike!"

"Something went wrong!" Hemingway yelled back. "I can't control it - it just keeps drifting!" It was getting further away as he was saying this, and Harvey decided he would dwell on it later after he found Mike. He took a deep breath and dived under, keeping an eye out for Mike.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something, and turned to see Mike struggling just underneath the yacht; caught up in an unruly line that had become dislodged. He swam over, and clapped a hand to Mike's shoulder to show he was there. His associate jumped and turned, eyes pleading for help. Harvey squeezed his shoulder and made short work of the thick ropes entangled on Mike's body. The yacht hit something else, and Mike was yanked by the last rope around his left bicep upwards - hitting his head off the bottom of the yacht.

Harvey was running out of air - and if he was that meant that Mike _definitely _was. He pushed through the water quickly and dragged Mike towards him, yanking the last rope off his arm and dragging him up, eager to breathe.

They broke the surface with large gulps - Mike had let whatever air he had inside him out in shock when he hit his head, and was gasping and wheezing, trying to draw in breaths. He was making splashes in the water as he tried to stay afloat and eventually just clung to Harvey.

"Mike, are you okay? Mike!" Harvey shook him slightly, treading water with ease. The kid was pale and shivering, but had managed to pull his breaths in until he was breathing somewhat normally.

"Shit... this - we - I knew boats were evil!" Mike said in a ragged voice.

"Sure, kid - but this is a yacht," Harvey told him, assessing his associate's condition. He was too pale. "Are you okay?"

"Uh... I'm not really that strong a swimmer," Mike whimpered desperately. "I mean, I usually am, but I can't really move one of my arms..."

Horror enveloped Harvey at that statement. "Which one?" He asked calmly.

"The left one," Mike murmured, clutching at Harvey with his right hand, the left one flung uselessly over the older man's shoulder. Harvey inspected it. He couldn't see any blood, deep gashes or anything sticking out of it. Then he noticed it was an odd length...

"Shit, kid," he sighed. "Only you. You've dislocated your shoulder."

"Have I?" Mike asked curiously. "Oh... It doesn't hurt that much..."

"Wait for the adrenaline to go," Harvey said darkly. That was when he noticed the blood on Mike's head and remembered him hitting it off the bottom of the yacht. "How's your head?"

"Hurts," Mike whimpered, squeezing his eyes closed. "When are we being rescued?"

"I'm still working on that one," Harvey muttered, now completely unable to see the lifeboat. He felt a rippling in the water and glanced behind him. 'The Rose' was going down fast, and if they weren't careful, they would be dragged under with it. "Come on, Mike," he said, starting to swim. "We need to get away from the boat."

"It's a yacht," Mike told him, giggling slightly which made Harvey want to kill himself. Of course they would be out in a large expanse of water in the middle of nowhere, with Mike being unable to swim due to an injury and with a concussion to boot. He pulled on the kid, willing him to at least do something in order to save his own life. Thankfully, Mike started to kick his legs and half heartedly try and throw his right arm around in a weak attempt to paddle. Harvey kept a hold of that arm though - if he didn't keep a solid grip on Mike, he wouldn't be surprised if the kid just sank.

Slowly, Harvey managed to pull both himself and his associate away from the yacht. He turned in the water and watched as 'The Rose' slowly started going down.

"That's not right."

Harvey looked around at Mike and raised an eyebrow. "What? Just how is it 'not right'?"

"Rose didn't sink. Jack did," Mike told him, still clutching firmly to Harvey. "Rose floated on a door or something..."

"I really don't think we can exactly equate this to 'Titanic' somehow, Mike," Harvey told him, knowing he should just humour the kid - he'd experienced concussed Mike before and found it best to just go along with what he said.

"Why not?" Mike asked, outraged.

"Because thousands of people died," Harvey explained, as though talking to a child. "And no one is dying now, are they?"

"But there weren't enough lifeboats," Mike told him, his lip wobbling slightly.

"We only needed the one lifeboat, kid," Harvey told him. "But _someone _decided to take a swan dive off the railing. Actually," he amended, thinking hard, "that was me."

"You did a swan dive?" Mike asked, sounding impressed as his eyes widened.

"You bet your ass I did," Harvey told him, sounding proud. "Best damn dive you've ever seen," he felt Mike shivering. "You okay?"

"Everything hurts," Mike moaned in response. "My shoulder, my head - I'm cold and I'm tired and I - where are we again?"

"We _were _on a yacht remember?" Harvey said patiently.

"Mhmm," Mike responded. "It was a boat."

"Sure, kid," Harvey replied. "You hit your head."

"Mmm," Mike winced. "Head hurts..."

"I'm not surprised," Harvey said, not without sympathy. He then felt Mike shiver. "You cold?"

"Mhmm," Mike mumbled, nodding his head against Harvey's shoulder. They had switched places a few times and now Mike had his right hand clutching to Harvey's left shoulder, and then had his injured arm laying across the right, effectively initiating a watery hug. Harvey had one hand gripping at Mike's back and the other holding the soaking wet shirt at his midriff. His arms were seizing up but there was no way he would let go - he could feel Mike still tiredly paddling his feet in an effort to keep treading water, and thanked God that his legs were strong due to all the biking. Harvey was sure he wouldn't give up for a while.

He let go of Mike for a few seconds to pull his phone out of his pocket, with a stupidly optimistic thought that it might still be working. It wasn't, and he shook it angrily as if that would help it switch back on.

Now Mike's head was nodding against Harvey; his hair tickling Harvey's cheek. "No one's going to find us, are they?" Mike asked dully.

"Of course they are - Alfred's gone to get help," Harvey said stubbornly. Mike didn't need to know that the lifeboat was simply drifting out of control and that Alfred had no way of getting help.

"Oh. Okay..." Mike was quiet for a moment. "So, uh... what are we doing again?"

Harvey wanted to hit himself in the head or squeeze the bridge of his nose in frustration. But that would require him to be on dry land. And really, doing either of those things would be quite far down on his 'reasons he wanted to be on dry land' list.

"Waiting," he answered. "Don't fall asleep," Harvey warned him, hearing him yawn slightly.

"Why not?" Mike whined. God, his voice got annoying when he was concussed.

"Because you're cold _and _you've most likely got concussion," Harvey told him. "You're telling me you've never opened a medical journal?"

"Just 'cause I have an eidetic memory doesn't mean I read everything that's ever been published," Mike sniped back, angrily.

_Irritability, _Harvey checked off his mental Mike list. _Add that to the pain and fatigue._

"What's today's date?" Harvey asked him.

Mike frowned and looked at him, squinting. "Why? Did you hit your head?"

Harvey wanted to drown him. The kid genuinely sounded concerned about his wellbeing. "Answer my question."

"No," Mike said stubbornly, going to cross his arms before realising that he couldn't move one (And that was _really _starting to hurt - a lot) and if he moved he would probably sink both of them. "Pick a better question."

"What are your thoughts on post-modernism in the arts and do you think the Pre-Raphaelites were blasphemers?" Harvey asked him with a straight face.

"Uh..." Harvey thought he had stumped him. Until... "They aren't even connected!" Mike suddenly argued. "The Pre-Raphaelites have nothing to do with post-modernism; although I suppose you could argue that in terms of what they were doing in their time, it was considered - "

"I get it, Mike," Harvey quickly silenced him. It was good that Mike was talking and not trying to sleep, but he didn't want to listen to Mike babble for however long it was until they were rescued. "Okay - simple questions. Blue or green?"

"Blue."

"Raspberry or strawberry?"

"Raspberry."

"'Dante's Inferno' or 'Paradise Lost'?"

"'Paradise Lost'."

"'Psycho' or 'The Birds'?"

"'Psycho'."

"Bale or Keaton for Batman?"

"You."

Harvey smirked, remembering their Batman conversation in Mike's first week.

"Winter or Fall?"

"Fall."

"Me or Louis?"

"In terms of what?"

Harvey smiled. He was glad that Mike was actually thinking about these questions rather than just mindlessly answering them. "Who would you rather work for?"

"Is this a trick question?" Mike asked. "To try and get me while I'm weak? But it's you," Mike told him tiredly, hand cramping as he twisted it into a fist and clung tighter to the older man. "Obviously. You think I would honestly want to work for Louis?"

Harvey attempted to shrug. "Thought it would be an interesting question. Rachel or Jenny?"

"Don't even go there."

"Vanilla or chocolate?"

"Chocolate. I bet you're vanilla."

"Damn right."

* * *

><p>Harvey's questions lasted for over an hour, and had turned more personal as time went on: "Why did you make friends with Trevor? What do you like about working with me? How long did you live with your grandmother for?"<p>

"Tell me about your family," Mike said suddenly.

"Why?" Harvey asked carefully.

Mike shrugged. "I want to know - I like finding out things about you," his head rested on Harvey's shoulder and Harvey saw his eyes closing.

"Stay awake, Mike," he said, repeating the phrase for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Tell me about your family," Mike insisted.

"Tell me about yours," Harvey shot back.

"Parents dead, no siblings, one grandparent. Your turn," Mike said quickly. Harvey didn't push him. He was only using these questions as a way of keeping Mike awake.

"Two parents, one brother. No grandparents though. At least, not that I've met."

"What's your brother like?" Mike asked.

"He's... a lot like you, actually," Harvey said, fighting to keep a smile off his face. He always smiled when he talked about his little brother. "Stubborn, annoying, smart-ass, college drop-out - I could go on."

"And he has a Harvey," Mike mumbled. "That's a similarity."

"You don't 'have a Harvey'," the older man argued.

"Do too," Mike replied. "I have a Harvey. It's a slightly older guy who always tells me off but deep down thinks I'm doing a great job."

"I think deep down he thinks you're a pain in the ass."

"And he does that brother thing - you know? Like, if you beat me up it'd be fine. But if Louis beat me up you'd kill him. It must be awesome to have a brother," he decided. "I wanted siblings. In a letter to Santa I wrote that I wanted a baby brother. I got bike instead."

Harvey snorted. "Costs less," he said. "Stay awake, Mike," he said again.

"I'm trying," Mike spat out. His shivering became more pronounced. Throughout Harvey's detailed and rigorous questioning (He now knew that Mike hated cheese and would only eat it if it was melted, hated the taste of orange and loved the colour blue and also secretly liked watching 'Law and Order') he had felt the shivering steadily build, but now it was bad.

"How cold do you feel?" He asked gently as he glanced up at the sky, frowning. It was getting dark. An hour or so and it would be pitch black. And no one would find them.

"Pretty cold," Mike whimpered.

"I'm not surprised - you should go to the gym more and get some muscle. Or at least eat more and get a bit of fat to store heat. You're too damn thin," Harvey grumbled.

"Am not," Mike argued weakly.

"You're going to get hypothermia if you're not careful."

"Yeah, 'cause I can do _so _much about it," Mike grumbled, still shivering. Harvey's arms slipped a bit and Mike spluttered slightly as cold water ran into his mouth as he was unprepared for the slight drop. "Are you okay?" He asked Harvey, thinking that the older man was hurt in some way.

"Fine," Harvey muttered. "My arms are getting stiff. You're heavier with wet clothes on."

"You can let go if you want," Mike told him. "I'll be fine."

"Mike, you can't keep yourself afloat," Harvey said, exasperated. "You can't move one of your arms and you have a head injury!"

"But your arms are getting tired!" Mike argued. "You should be okay trying to swim though; see if you can find land somewhere!"

"I'm not letting go," Harvey grumbled.

"That's what Rose said. Then she let Jack go."

"Firstly - I am _not _Kate Winslet in this scenario and secondly - she was saying she wouldn't let go of a promise," Harvey had no idea why he was debating the finer details of 'Titanic' with his associate, but it definitely passed the time, and thankfully skimmed over the conversation that would no doubt arise about him refusing to let Mike go. He could tell it would have the word 'care' in there somewhere.

"I'm cold," Mike mumbled.

"I know, kid, me too," Harvey said. Although he had more body mass, so Mike would be colder than him - where was the freaking rescue?

"I'm really cold," he whimpered pathetically.

"I gathered that," Harvey replied, his eyes forever roving as he searched the large expanse of water for a sign of a boat. He was screwing his eyes up as it got harder to see - it was getting darker, and his legs were getting tired. Very tired, in fact. He only had Mike to hold onto, and it wasn't as though Mike was a steady raft. Harvey realised that the younger man had basically given up treading water and was occasionally kicking one leg half-heartedly. He was mostly clutching to Harvey for support.

"My shoulder hurts," Mike mumbled.

"Nothing I can do about it yet, Mike," Harvey said gently. "When we get out, I promise I will get you the best drugs I can."

"You said I can't get high," Mike pointed out, resting his head on Harvey's shoulder again. It was getting harder to hold him...

"You can't," Harvey replied. God, his arms were on fire...

"So you can't give me drugs."

His hands were seizing up, he couldn't clutch at his associate for much longer...

"You don't want painkillers?"

Where were the boats...?

"Mmmm..."

His legs were getting harder to move...

"Mike, stay awake."

Was that the sound of an engine...?

"M'kay..."

Why wouldn't they hurry up...?

"Favourite animal?"

He saw lights in the distance...

"Dunno..."

There were people in the boat coming towards them...

"Everyone has a favourite animal."

They came to a standstill beside the shivering men...

"H'vey?"

They were both being slowly pulled on board...

"Right here, Mike."

He finally broke his stiff hold and collapsed on the floor of the boat, not caring about how he should look. He was wrapped in a blanket and he could finally curl up his weary limbs.

"Mike's shoulder's dislocated," Harvey said, hoping someone would hear. He was tired now. Very tired. There was something missing from his arms. "Where's Mike?"

"He's being seen to," a man said to Harvey. "Don't worry about him right now, he's in good hands."

_Not mine..._

"Sir, you have to stay still - we're going to a hospital. You can rest now."

He had to see that Mike was okay.

"Sir, you need to - "

He made his way towards the other bundle of blankets and put his hands on the - now thankfully normal looking and not-dislocated - shoulder. "Mike?"

"Hey, H'vey..."

Harvey felt freezing cold hands clutch at his blanket and knelt down next to Mike, re-opening his stiff arms and took hold of Mike, feeling the younger man rest his head back on his shoulder. They resumed their positions as they had been in the water, and although Harvey felt himself drifting into unconsciousness, he still kept a tight hold, and instinctively kicked his leg a few times to keep them afloat.

* * *

><p>When he awoke properly, Donna was sat next to him, with a worried expression and slight mascara lines down her face. She brightened when she saw him open his eyes. "You idiot," she said, making him frown. He hadn't been expecting that. "You don't try and get into the lifeboat; you let it drift off with <em>just your jacket in it <em>- purely because you had to show off and save Mike."

She was crying slightly now, giving him a hug. He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "How's Mike?" He asked, his voice hoarse.

Donna sat up and wiped at her eyes, sniffing occasionally. "Donna..." Harvey growled.

"He'll be okay," she told him, noting that he seemed to have now relaxed completely. "I don't know how he kept himself afloat for that long though," she marvelled, horrified to find her eyes brimming with tears again. "The paramedics in the boat had to fix a dislocated shoulder; and he won't even need more time than normal to let it heal, even though he was obviously using it to stay afloat!" She beamed at Harvey. "We underestimated the puppy."

Harvey smirked. He didn't know whether he should inform her that he basically _held _Mike for about 2 hours - which would make her extremely happy with him - or whether he should let her believe that Mike was incredibly brave and strong.

Screw that.

"He didn't keep himself afloat," he told her. "He couldn't move his arm at all because of the dislocation, and he'd hit his head - he barely knew what was happening."

"So, how did...?" Donna wondered, looking at Harvey with a questioning glance.

"Well I couldn't let him drown - imagine the paperwork! And I know you didn't like meeting with all the new associates," Harvey told her, trying not to feel _damn_ good about her grin.

"You held him up?" She said, looking even more happy than she had done when she'd gotten Louis to cry. That was a good day... "For 2 hours? I know he probably weighs less than me wringing wet, but to hold him up, and keep both of you up? No wonder you've been sleeping for so long! Oh, Harvey - admit that you care, and - Harvey?"

Harvey hadn't really been listening to her, but his head had shot up and he was narrowing his eyes at her. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Well, technically - "

"How long?"

"You've been in here for 2 days. This is really the first time you've been coherent. The other times were just mumbling. Don't worry," she said, tipping him a wink. "Everything you said, I already knew."

"Where's Mike?"

"He's in his own room, Harvey - I didn't realise that when I was using your _not exactly limited _amount of money that I would need to budget and make sure you were put in one room. Although it would have been nice," she said, gazing around the room, "to have my boys closer."

Harvey snorted. "How about you go check on Mike," he told her.

She smiled at him. "Want me to write out a 2 page report on how he's doing? Maybe tape him for you? How about we set up a baby-monitor in his room?"

She left, giggling, knowing he wouldn't have the balls to throw the pen he had in his hand at her.

* * *

><p>In another 2 days, Harvey was ready to be released from hospital. Actually, he was fine to be released after 1 day, but he made up some story about how his coughs still felt watery. Donna had kept her mouth shut, humming slightly, and as soon as the doctor had gone she had made up a little song with lyrics that went something like, "Maybe it's because you don't want to be away from Mike..."<p>

But he was now stood outside the hospital, Ray pulling up outside with a grin. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he beamed, opening the car door. "I'm assuming you want to go home?"

"Hang on a second, Ray," Harvey said, glancing back at the hospital doors. Soon enough, they opened and Mike stumbled through them, holding onto a bag tightly with his right hand, whilst his left was being held in a sling. Mike reached the car and smiled at the driver.

"Okay, Ray," Harvey said, getting in and closing the door before Mike had a chance to slide in; meaning he had to get in from the other side. "Now we can go."

* * *

><p><strong>AN For now, I'm marking this as complete - I may do another chapter of it, but for now; I'm saying this is a oneshot. I loved writing this, but I need to focus my attention back on my other stories - which is why I was hoping to just make this a oneshot XD This felt like a good place to stop if I DO leave it as a oneshot, so yeah... **

**Uh - please review? And thanks again, _Phreakycat _for your wonderfull prompt :)**


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